


leads the child

by smallhands



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fatherhood, Gen, Pre-Canon, byleth is baby yoda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallhands/pseuds/smallhands
Summary: in imperial year 1162, a strange and quiet child stands in their father's shadow.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	leads the child

fódlan’s great north has no edges. a thick white blanket wraps tightly to the earth’s jagged contours, stretching out in all directions for as far as the eye can see; defying sunlight, dampening sound. rays strike the pristine surface and bounce straight up into the eyes, make you turn your head and squint. the cold is punishing. and all is quiet but for the groaning of the wind through the nearby gorge and the crunching of two pairs of feet through the snow.

it is imperial year 1162. a man walks beneath a brittle gray branch; a spindly, naked, crooked thing that twig-thin icicles dangle down from, twinkling when the light kisses them. he pulls down & off the scarf which has been tied tightly around his head for the better part of the day. for all the good it’s doing keeping his neck and ears warm, it only serves to make his nose and mouth feel colder—the fog of his breath condenses and turns to drops, which cling to the fabric and quickly go to ice. breathing in the frigid air direct feels like razors slicing his nasal passages, however, and after a few shallow pulls he’s cupping gloved, numb-fingered hands over his maw so he can huff out some warmer steam to breathe.

his narrowed eyes survey the landscape as it stretches out before him. the gorge lies east and below, and dense woods to the west. straight on is nothing but snow and some sparse tree coverage for at least the next half-league. some low evergreen brush with arms too thin not to bend beneath the weight of snow. it’s difficult to tell exactly where they are. this time of year snow falls and falls and falls and all the lands north of the oghmas become indistinguishable, turn into one giant swath of blank white taiga. borders blurred by freeze. it was still dark when they left itha in the morning. for all the man knows they could already be well within fraldarius territory, _or_ miles still away from it.

the man’s stomach smarts from emptiness. he badly wants to reach a township before sundown. before the light is lost and he has no other choice but to stop wherever he is and fashion fire and go to sleep without eating. he’d much rather curl up on the stairs outside a tavern in some little hamlet that he doesn’t know the name of, where at least there’s a stone wall to block out the wind and the bare warmth of a lantern glowing overhead and he might be able to beg a few coins to buy broth with from the patrons as they leave. stow the child underneath a bench to sleep further out of the wind so they won’t be stepped or pissed or heaved on by any wayward drunks.

if the child’s depths ring with the same hollow ache as the man’s, it isn’t apparent. he turns face back over a pauldroned shoulder and sees them crouched down in the powder, trying to form a scoop of it into a ball with tiny ungloved hands.

the man shakes his head. “no time for that,” he says, lifting his knees up high as he picks his way back over to them. “we need to keep walking now. if you’re tired, let me carry you.”

the child doesn’t look up. they squeeze the clump too hard with bright red fingers, causing it to crumble.

“where are your mittens?” mutters the man, reaching to dust the snow from the child’s palms and little digits. the cold is surely stinging them. the child’s countenance betrays no discomfort. “if you get frostbite, your fingers will break off. is that what you want?”

the child plops down on their bottom and sinks so the snow nearly reaches their shoulders. _done for today,_ the action says. _no more walking._

“we won’t eat tonight if we stop now.” the man drags the tot back up onto their feet. pats back and bum and back-side of legs to shake loose the snow that clings to them before hoisting them up through the air. “you just sleep. we’re almost there.”

the child reaches death-cold hands into the neck of the man’s shirt to press them icy to his skin like they know that that’s a lie.

\---

 _my father was never very affectionate with me,_ he’d said to her.

 _and so?_ she nestled a bulb into the damp and yielding soil. _will you be, with your own children?_

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh idk where im going w/ this i just like eisners haha


End file.
